The 1st Hunger Games
by StormCloudontheHorizon
Summary: The Capitol's retribution to the rebellious districts is both cruel and mesmerizing: a competition, pitting youth against each other for the bloody entertainment of the capitol... witness the beginning of the story... The very first Hunger Games.
1. Smothered

In the blazing heat of the afternoon sun, my brother and I waited. We should be tending, but even if someone had noticed our complacency, I doubt they would have minded. Today, our laziness will be waved away. We sit, idly chatting atop the fence outside our home, waiting. The dirt road before us was empty, and would remain empty, surely, until two hours from now, when we are to rally in town. A high pitched buzzing seemed to cover our words, muffling my brother's words. As I watch his mouth form and move around his words, I hear none of them. My mind is elsewhere. His may be also, but his skills of deception are much greater than mine, so I may never know. He notices my distraction, and falters. Our conversation halts.

"Do you think they'll really do it?" He asked, looking forward. His hands grip the wooden beam beneath us. " I mean, they could just be scaring us, right?" He turns his head to me and waits. His eyes are pleading. He may be older, and he may be smarter, but my brother has always relied on me to reassure him.

" I don't know," I answer honestly. This is a new experience. For all of us. "It's just as likely they will as they won't."

"I don't understand why this is necessary. We're done. We're as good as slaves to them now, why kill us?"

"To remind us."  
>"Yeah, that's the filth they keep streaming. But, Terra, dear," he asks, plopping down onto the ground and smacking his hands together, " to remind us of what?"<p>

"You know what, Sam. They need to remind us of exactly what it means to rebel against the Capitol."  
>" I don't believe that." He's heading into the house now, yelling at my mother to find him some dress clothes. My eyes look out down the road, waiting for a sign of life. There is none. The pastures alongside are vacant. There is no breeze to break the swelling heat, nor a cloud to hide me from it. I wipe the sweat from my upper lip and lean back,staring into the sun. Welcome to District 10, home of livestock and slaves. Today though, both are hidden away, waiting for what we are to call '<em>the reaping'<em>.


	2. The Reaping

It felt oddly humorous, being rounded up like animals. Once we had reached the cobbled square, Samuel and I had been seperated, him to stand with boys of eligible age, and me to girls. Our mother was cast into the crowd behind us, waiting with baited breath for our safe return. The girls surrounding me were pushing and crowding against the barrier, but I was at the front, and I was gong to remain there. I dug my hands into the wood, and I could feel the edges dig into my hands. I wanted a good view. I felt disgusted with myself, but I was curious.

The crowd gave a half-hearted cheer as a man in a dark suit walked forward to the podium, set on a magnificent stage that took up a large portion of our square. His fluffy white hair wrapped around his tiny head like a hilariously misplaced dandelion, and It was all I could do to stay silent, with the rest of the crowd, as he prepared his speech. After shuffling some papers, he coughed, and addressed us in a gravelly voice,  
>"<em>Today, the Capitol will embark on a journey. This journey will strengthen and repair our nation, where the districts have broken and divided it. The districts have brought pain, despair, and death to those in the Capitol, despite our attempted efforts to appease and qualm the fight. But we are forgiving. We applaud your intelligence and spirit, returning to those purposes set before, submitting to the wise and just rule of the capitol.<em>"

There was a general murmur of curiosity throughout the crowd. Did they mean to bait us? After a year of this day looming in the mind of ever person in 10, they are just delivering a speech? The Hunger Games were a ploy, to scare us, I though. I was relieved. To gather us here, and merely threaten us? This was a reaping? It seemed fitting.

"_However, to remind you what it means- what it costs to rebel against the wise and just, you must be punished." _His beady eyes darted around, searching for remorse within us. My stomach dropped. My hopes were trampled. They meant to go through with this. They mean to kill us. This kindly looking man... He was a messenger for death. He was no longer humorous, he was terrifying._ "The districts will henceforth, on a yearly basis, be privileged to participate in a beautiful example of Capitol justice and forgiveness- I welcome you all the the very 1st Hunger Games!_"

My stomach dropped. a spattered applause rang through the crowd, for fear of retribution. I was rooted tot he spot by fear. Different scenarios were flitting through my mind. If I was to participate, if not me, who, would it be someone I know? I looked through the girls around me, landing on a young girl, around 12, with a flowered jumper. Her? This girl, with the jumper, would she die?

Up on the stage, the man introduced a young woman as "Riffle Markip". Her long blonde hair was luxuriously curled, and her painted face was haughty. After tottering over to a portion of the stage prepared with two large bowls, she picked up the microphone.

"Good afternoon, Ladies and gentlemen," her surprisingly low voice rang out, " and I hope you are all as excited as I am to being this glorious new tradition! My job is to select two of you for the utmost privilege- to become," she lingered her green eyes meaningfully on a young boy near my brother, " a tribute. Oh," she clucked her fingers and pressed a finger to her mouth, shushing in what was obviously meant to be a sensual way, "but silly me, I don't get to choose, do I? I will select your names randomly from these bowls. One girl. One boy. Shall we begin? Ladies first, I believe."

I searched the crowd for my brother, catching his eye. He smiled and nodded, doing as much as he could to comfort me. We have only us, and our mother, and we all manage to survive. No reason to get too nervous. Despite my reasoning, Fear thickened in my throat. As Riffle extended one perfectly manicured hand into the bowl, the crowd silenced. the girls around me were holding their breath, praying, like all the other, for it to be anyone but them. their prayers were answered. The low voice rang out, and the crowd cheered.

Terra Woolridge. 


	3. Whisked Away

I had not been particularly well liked, but as my hands fell numbly to my sides, I felt betrayed. Who would cheer at a time like this? They weren't cheering for my death, but rather, that their daughters had been returned. i felt tears on my face, and shook them away dumbly with my fingers. Within the cheers, I was expected to walk calmly up to the podium and be recognized. My feet were like weights. I couldn't find my brother, and Riffle was using this opportunity to explain something, but I wasn't listening. As I shuffled forward, I wanted nothing more than to welcome each and every person cheering into the Games as well. Climbing the stairs onto the stage, I stared blankly at the crowd. Only one sad face could I find: my mother's, staring back, just as blankly. I could not register the reality of this. The tribute? I am going to die. I'm not a survivor. I wanted Sam. I wanted to run to him and to plead with him and to apologize. But I could not find him. I would not say goodbye to my brother.

"Well, Terra Woolridge, congratulations, but let's not hog all the glory! On to the menfolk", Riffle said, winking at the camera. Her golden gown glimmered as she made a show of reaching into the deepest depths of the bowl, plucking the slip from deep within its depths. I was resigned. This held no interest for me. I had no interest left. Only death.

As Riffle read in her sultry, low voice, the crowd cheered once more for their loved one's survival. "Semion Lord." A boy stepped forward. My age, same tan skin as mine and Sam's, maybe a little darker. He took his place atop the stage, equally congratulating him, ready to move on, only to be interrupted by a booming, but yet strained, voice.

"I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute," my brother said, stepping forward. His auburn hair was mussed like he'd been fighting to the front, and his eyes were red. Crying. He'd been crying for me. Riffle looked taken aback. I was prepared for him to be refused, but instead, Riffle only nodded, and addressed the camera.

"It seems, viewers, we have a sense of climax already- a volunteer! What, may I ask, is your name?" She shoved the microphone under my brothers nose as he was climbing the stairs. The other boy clamored past him, running towards his family gratefully.

"Samuel Woolridge. That," he jerked a finger in my direction, "is my twin sister."

The crowd was silent. They sensed the same trepidation I did- was this legal? Should I let my brother volunteer? Could I stop him? But before I an protest, Riffle has introduced him and the crowd cheered. We are whisked away, off the stage, away from the square, someone pulled on my hair... But all I could think... My brother... Me... One of us will die. The other will have to witness it... or worse. My stomach knotted.

I was sitting on an old bed, staring at my legs. Bruised and scarred, my tan legs seemed out of place amongst this room. The grand suite was were I was to be taking meetings... Goodbyes... But no one was coming. My mother wouldn't. She couldn't handle it. My brother couldn't, he sit in another room, waiting the same pointless end. I put my hands in the pockets of my overalls and laid back onto the cool duvet. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I stared at the ceiling, jutting my hands out in front of me. If I want to live, these will become soaked in blood. I brought my palm down and kissed it. I must have cried when I wasn't aware, because my face was wet. sitting up, I peered into the mirror opposite me. My long hair, the same red-brown as my brothers, was knotted and mangy. My face was dirty and streaked from tears. I was no one's beauty... And Those who would be beneficial to me in the Games would choose a prettier, cleaner tribute. I was truly doomed. An opened door broke my self-revulsion, and Riffle stepped in.  
>"It's time to go. Follow me." The sultry seductress act was turned off, there were no cameras. Her matter of fact tone and bored eyes told me she was not a patient woman, and I quickly followed her out of the room, stopping only to inquire about my brother. She grunted. It was a short walk to the train station, where Another set of cameras recorded my tear streaked face, before I boarded the most luxurious train I had ever seen.<br>"Clean up, dinner is soon." Riffle turned on her heel and left in a businesslike rush. I entered into the cabin directed to me, laid on the bed, nestled into the pillows and cried.


End file.
